BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

A Hail of bullets came flying through around Anton. Luckily the shots barely grazed through their intended target. Panicking Anton quickly jumps behind the nearest cover, which is an oak tree barely 1.5 meters tall. It is on a cold windy autumn day when the entire commotion happens, . After taking a quick peek at the direction of the shots fired the target realized his assailants is behind another car. 

Thank, fucking god this motherfucker is a bad shot. Fucking amateur. Anton thought to himself. 

Quietly, Anton slowly crept towards a more solid cover, located around 400 meters away. Once behind a more solid cover, Anton took out his weapon from his shoulder holster, a m1911 pistol. Solid little thing been following him around since the day he ventured into the cold hard world of the Mafia.

After a deep breath, Anton got out of cover and fired in the direction of his assailants.

BANG! BANG! CLICK!

The M1911 has been the most reliable weapon to him, however Anton has a very bad habit of not reloading his ammo clips after using them. 

Fuck, I know I should have fucking check the clip. Anton swear under his breath out of annoyance for his own carelessness. 

Anton retreated back to his cover behind the brick wall hoping that his assailants only think that his gun jammed. At this point, Anton was looking around to see if he can hatch an escape plan or even use something as a weapon. As he glanced up and look around, he noticed that after all, all of this is happening in broad day light, in the moment of an adrenalin rush, all the screams and shouting of pedestrians was muffled up as he panicked. 

In a much clearer state of mind right now, he noticed that, his assailants actually fired more shots then he had realized as he sees a couple of pedestrian lying down. Two of them are clearly dead, in the midst of the victims a kid no more then 4 years old is shot on the foot. In an idea perfect world, Anton should have run towards the kid in the most heroic fashion and carry the kid to safety.

But in Anton's world, fuck everyone. Survival of the fucking fittest is the rule of the game. 

Sorry Kid, lets hope you stay the fuck out of the rest of the fire fight. Anton thought to himself. 

While still looking for a way out, he hears the distant police car siren blaring in the air. 

Anton realizes this is it, finally a fucking chance. Expecting that his assailants would have ran away now, Anton ducked out of his cover and ran towards the opposite direction of his assailants. 

Unbeknownst to him, his assailant never budged from his place despite the police closing in, even unluckier for Anton. This time the first shot the gunman fired at Anton hit him right into his left thigh. 

Argh! Anton fell to the ground as the pain hits him like a train. Anton muster his energy and looked up. He finally got to see the face of his assailant, it was a young kid, not much younger then 15 or 16. At this point the young gun man, realized he has finally injured his target and walked towards Anton to finish up the job. 

However luck was on Anton's side. The now not so distant police siren is getting louder and louder. The Gunmen realized he could't get lucky for the second time from his distance decided to bail on his target and make a run for it. Like an amateur he didn't throw his gun once the job is over. He ran away with it, possibly for future bragging rights with his pals. 

Anton however is not so lucky, in an attempt to close his wound, Anton tore a piece of his shirt and attempt to wrap around his thights, once he is done he attempts to stand up and try to make a run for it. Mustering all his strength he dragged himself up. As he walked on his third step, he nearly fell only regaining his balance by holding onto the lamppost, as Anton regain his balance he starts walking away again. 

He suddenly felt a sharp blunt force hit him across his back and he fell down face first onto the pathment.

In the state of near consciousness Anton hears the phrase and sees two blurry uniformed figures. 

What do we have here. Anton motherfucking Giovanni. Another blow from the baton came onto Anton's face.

And that was the last thing Anton remembers before waking up in the Cook County Jail's Hospital wing. 

Anton looks around him, his left hand is bound to the bed. He tried pulling it despite knowing the fact that the cuffs will still be on his hand no matter how many times he tried it. Human eh? There are times where we know things are futile and yes we still try it. 

The room Anton is in is rather bare. There is literally nothing around him, no cabinets, no medical equipment, there is not even a nurse or any medical personals around. The only sign which points out that Anton is in the Cook County Jail's Hospital wing are the bars on the window and the park across the jail.

Moments later, two Chicago P.D. offficers came in, one of them is your typical Irish bloke, red hair, beer belly and a face of a rottweiler. The other one is like a palm tree, skinny but tall and comes with a ratty face. Following behind is another bloke who wears a smiley face, the kind which you know he is really friendly up front but you never know what he thinks behind his back. 

As the two uniform officers stood by the door, the smiley one approached Anton by the bed. Still focusing on those smiley eyes on Anton, he took off his hat and gave a nod to the officers by the door, a motion to let them know he wants privacy with Anton. As the officers leave the room, the smiley man finally talked. 

Hello there, Mr Giovanni. I believe we have never met, and it is unfortunate we met under such terrible situation.

The smiley man's voice has a slight squeakiness in it. The entire time he still has the smiley face the entire time he talks. 

My name is George O'Conner. A Detective Sergeant of the Chicago Department, I am sorry they have you locked up. Let me get that for you. 

Detective George proceed stand up and unlock the cuffs to Anton's hand. Still suspicious on the intent of the Detective Sergeant, Anton gives a small nod in gratitude. Letting out a small cough, the detective spoke again. 

I will also like to apologies on behalf of the Chicago Police Department that you were send here for your treatment, as we believe a person with such a profession as yours can't be anywhere safer then being in a jail at the moment. While we conduct our investiga-

Detective George was talking halfway when he is interrupted by Anton. 

I don't want to sound rude or anything Detective? Detective Sergeant? Which is more appropriate? 

Detective George give a small forced smile and replied. Detective will do. 

Anton nods and continue on.

Ok, Detective. As I was saying, I don't mean to be rude or anything but lets cut the chase. What does the police department want from me?

Detective George gave a huge smile at Anton's question. 

Man who doesn't like small talks eh? The huge grin on the Detective's face is growing so much that at one point, Anton swore it took up half of his face. 

You see Mr Giovanni, you and your friends has been tearing up Chicago for some time now. There are even talks of expansion, more contraband shipments coming up and down to the border up North. The increased of liquor shipments from the British Isle. What I want? 

Detective George's grin has now disappeared from his face. A stern look has now appeared instead. 

The fucking thing I want is for you and your friends to get the fuck out of this country and get back to that shit hole tomato paste food land of yours. Do you understand what I want now? 

As the detective finish up he gave a huge slap across Anton's face and continue on telling Anton. 

What I want from you is for you to give your fucking friends up and I will consider getting you a clean sheet. The angered detective took a deep breath and slowly reverting back to his smiley self.

Sorry about that. The big creepy grin smile is back on his face as he continue on.

I am offering a chance or a way out you see. This is the best option I can offer you because the other option you have is that, I will write a fine report about you and send the fine report about you to the Bureau of Prohibition. May as well let you know the content of the report I am going to write right? It will go with somewhere along the line of Giovanni, Chicago Mobster, biggest crackdown ever found on an individual basis, deportation. 

As he is telling him the ideas of what will be in his report, the detective is waving around like a movie director envisioning how he wants his movie to be like. 

So you fucking Italian rat. You see people always says we coppers don't give chances, on the contrary I am a rather nice person and I need some time to write and compile that fine report. So I propose that I give you two days to think about this. I will be back on Thursday. Lets hope, by then I will realize I wasted two days of my life writing a fine ass report about you. 

Anton was sleeping when he was suddenly woken up by a splash of water to his face. 

WHAT THE FUCK. Anton screamed, as he try punching whoever who did this, he was pulled back my a new set of cuffs chained to the bed, which appeared to have been put on while he was sleeping. 

Detective George is seen holding a bucket on his hand with his signature friendly smile, only this time the smile appears to be in a much amusing tone. 

Time to wake the fuck up, Mr Giovanni. Two days has passed. Can I know your decision. 

Anton looked on, clearly still pissed about being completely soaked wet now. He took a deep breath and look at the window outside. It is pitched black outside. Clearly couldn't have been 10-20mins passed midnight. 

What the fuck Detective, it's the middle of fucking night. Anton said to the detective in a rather annoyed tone. 

You see, Mr Giovanni. You have no fucking rights here. I say yes or no to your fucking rights. Can I or can I not have my answer now? Time is running out. I gave you more then sufficient time to think about your decision.  Still seemingly amused by his action, the detective grinned while talking to Anton. 

The answer is fucking no. I would rather fucking die. What you will be doing will not be half as bad as what my guys will do to me if I rat. So yes my answer is clear. No. Fucking. Way. 

The detective's grin has gone away now, replaced by a smug. He knows his plan to blackmail Anton has not worked as well as he thought. He took a paper folder out of his Coat and tossed it to Anton. 

This is the fucking report, I am not fucking around Mr Giovanni. The bureau of prohibition will fucking deport your ass back to Italy if this report goes out. If I seem to sound not fucking serious at all, let me put it in a less poilite way. 

The detective now walks towards Anton and proceed to smack Anton with the pail continuously while saying. 

I. Smack with bucket.

Am. Smack with bucket.

Not. Smack with bucket.

Fucking. Smack with bucket.

Around. Smack with pail and proceed to punch Anton in the face. 

As the detective regain his composure, he look at Anton. Anton's face is now fulled of blood and bruises. The detective smiled at his action and said.

Do I make myself clear now? As he throws the bucket away in anger. 

I will be fucking back in the morning, I better hear a better fucking more reasonable answer from you then. You fucking mutthead. As he turns away exiting. 

Guards open this fucking door. 

As soon as he left the building, the guards came in to look at Anton. For the past few days Anton has been here. He has managed to bribe most of them. Taking care of his needs, Anton was getting rather comfortable. The guards basically works for him now. 

Call the warden and the doctor to come as soon as possible. One of the guards named Mitch said to one of the guards. 

The last thing Anton remembers before fainting was when the doctor and the nurse came rushing into his ward and Anton fell unconscious once again.